Hey! Thanks so much for keeping with it this far. This is my first time writing this kind of story, and I'd love feedback, positive or negative. Please review!

This chapter is short, so sorry about that. The next should be longer.

Chapter 4

And maybe Dean really had gone balls to the wall, foaming at the mouth crazy, because standing in the doorway was Trench Coat.

Dean gaped, his bad leg curled painfully under him, as Trench Coat bore down the mangled ghost-man, his hands outstretched and—and glowing.

The ghost-man shrank away from Trench Coat's light-bearing hands, and he released Leila. She was still and pale, her chest barely moving. Dean tried to crawl toward her, but the pain in his knee took his breath away and little sparks were swirling in front of his eyes and he glanced down to see that his whole lower leg was twisted in the wrong direction. It was like one of those gross-out medical photos that you look at in horror through your fingers, except that he was seeing it in real-time and in full living color. And it was attached to his body. Dean was wracked with a wave of nausea.

He looked back up, Trench Coat was still there, backing the ghost into the corner. The thing which had been choking the life out of Leila, which had thrown him across the room and Daffy Ducked his leg with no effort, cowered before Trench Coat's hands. Trench Coat laid one glowing hand on its forehead.

The thing howled in pain, and Dean watched in amazement as the thing began to dissolve, light seeming to run from Trench Coat's hand, pour into its mutilated body, and then burst out of the thing's skin in bright beams. It was happening right in front of his face and still unbelievable. It was like watching an avenging angel.

In a few seconds, the thing completely crumbled into dust. Trench Coat turned, his eyes scanning the room and landing on Dean. Trench Coat rushed over, and Dean stared wide-eyed as the man dropped to his knees.

"Dean! Are you alright?"

"How—how—?" Dean stammered. Trench Coat was staring at him in a way that was completely unfamiliar to Dean. It wasn't predatory, or fearful, or even the confused look Trench Coat had given him before. It was frighteningly intense, full of feeling, full of concern. It wasn't the way you looked at a stranger. Dean could really only guess, but he'd say it was the way you looked at family.

Trench Coat glanced around the room. "Where's Sam? Is he hurt?"

Dean's stomach clenched, a chill spreading over his skin. How the hell did Trench Coat know about Sam? Dean never talked about him, ever. No one knew about Sam.

Before he could respond, he heard a rasping, rattling gasp, and he turned his attention back to Leila. Her eyes were wide open now, and full of panic as she struggled to breathe through her damaged throat.

"Leila…" Dean's mind scrambled for how to help her. He didn't know any first aid. His leg was too damaged to get to the door, much less a phone, and Malcolm and the rest of them has fled as soon as Trench Coat ripped open the door.

Trench Coat followed his gaze, and quickly moved to Leila's side. He rested one of his hands on her chest. There was another burst of blue-white light, and Leila slumped back onto the floor, her eyes shut.

"What did you do?" Dean demanded. She was breathing, wasn't she? He hadn't…"What did you do?"

Trench Coat frowned at him. "I healed her. Your leg is injured, too. Let me—"

He moved back to Dean's side, and Dean couldn't help flinching. This situation was so insane. He just wanted to be back in the house, fast asleep on his ancient mattress. "Get back!"

Trench Coat's frown deepened. "Dean, I'm just—" Trench Coat's face suddenly went slack, a little of the lost, confused look returning to his eyes. "You're young," he murmured. "Dean, you're so young, I don't—"

They stared at each other for a moment, both confused into silence. Leila stirred, her eyelids fluttering, and Dean instinctively tried to move over to her again, almost screaming in pain as he moved his cartoonishly destroyed leg.

Trench Coat reached out, and before Dean could protest his hand landed on Dean's knee. Dean braced for intense pain, but the leg just felt cold, and then pleasantly warm. He looked down, and was stunned to see his leg was straight again, his foot facing forward, all the pain was gone. "You healed me," he said. "How did you…?"

"This isn't right," Trench Coat was saying. "This isn't…Where's Sam, Dean? Why isn't he here?"

Dean stood, and buckled a bit, but his leg took his weight. "How the hell do you know about Sam? Who are you?" he demanded.

Trench Coat stood up. "What do you mean? Of course I know Sam. He's your brother."

"How do you know that?" he asked, his voice rough and shaking. "I haven't seen Sam since he was a baby, so how could you possibly know about him? Who are you? Tell me who you are!"

"Something is very wrong," Trench Coat muttered. "I remember now. I have to…" He looked around, brow furrowed. "My name is Castiel. And I'm…" he swallowed, and his eyes snapped back to Dean's gaze. "I'm coming back. I don't know what's happening…I can't remember …but I promise I'll fix it, Dean."

Castiel disappeared with a whisper of wingbeats, leaving Dean staring at an empty spot on the floor. Not knowing what else to do, he knelt at Leila's side, reassuring her as she opened her eyes and took a few panicked breaths.

The girl—the ghost of a girl—was suddenly standing above them. The bruises were gone from her eyes, and her dress was intact and clean. She smiled at him. "He's gone," she said. "He's finally gone. Thank you." And then she flickered out of existence, too, leaving Dean and Leila alone.